


Unit 205B

by ReyDoneGoofed



Series: Fake AH crew AU [3]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake AH Crew, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-25 10:18:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17723309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReyDoneGoofed/pseuds/ReyDoneGoofed
Summary: Los Santos was full of miscreants, shity people, shity buildings, shity everything. The city wasnt pretty, but he liked it that way. He liked racing away from cops after shooting his target, he liked the rush. He liked Los Santos.//BEING REWRITTEN IM NOT THE BIGGEST FAN WITH HOW THE CHAPTERS TURNED OUT SO BEFORE I CONTINUE IT IM GOING TO FIX SOME HOLES UP//





	1. Disgustingly Pink.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Borderline](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13646400) by [rebelwriter6561](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelwriter6561/pseuds/rebelwriter6561). 
  * Inspired by [Breaking In and Shaping Up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6596047) by [rebelwriter6561](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelwriter6561/pseuds/rebelwriter6561). 



> Hey! I started a new fic! If you originally read No Cash/ Credit Only, don't worry! I'm still updating that (albeit very slowly) If you haven't read that yet, check it out if you'd like, I had a lot of fun writing the beginning of it. I started a new fic because I seriously needed a break from writing only that one. Hopefully, this will get me to enjoy writing NC/CO a bit more since I've been falling short with that.
> 
> This was also inspired by several works under the Raywood ship tag, once I find them again I'll credit them for the inspiration that they gave me!

Los Santos is a dangerous city, criminals, crooks, gangbangers, whores, dirty cops. Yeah, Los Santos was absolute filth, maybe that's why he liked it so much.

His life was shit and he assumed it'll always be shit. He was just an innocent kid from New York before he got into the life, it was an accident really, but shit got real so he ditched the gang he was with in New York and moved out to LS; an even shittier city.

He came across a disgustingly pink rifle and taught himself to shoot it, he loved that rifle with everything he had. His codename was whispered in fear along the streets, he'd been here a few years by now, he had a reputation.

He was solo right now, but still took jobs with any gang that paid well, shit any money at all, he'd probably go for a paperclip and a penny in all honesty.

He was currently laying down on the roof of some hole in the wall mom and pop shop. His signature pink rifle and purple jacket ever so present, he was working for some up and coming gang that went by FAKE, The Fakes? Honestly, he wasn't really paying too much attention.

He was looking through his new scope, happier by the second with his newest purchase, he was just waiting for the word to take out the gangs target, some bitch who shorted them or did something to the little gang.

He wouldn't be surprised if this gang either crashed and burned up quick or is gonna last forever, they had that kinda dynamic going on with each other, a whole invitation only sorta deal.

He was glad he had his jacket on and zipped up, the chilled February night air nipping at his face, thankfully there was little wind to adjust to, the cold roof was concrete and biting into his hip bones as they dug in.

He followed the man with his scope as he walked over to his outside table at the overly expensive Italian restaurant, LS was like that, beauty on one side of the street; scum on the other.

The little umbrella above the bistro table stood tall and still in a gold and bronze coloring. The sky was dark save for the full moon shining through the smog that suffocated the stars, what a resilient creature the moon was.

“Brownman, once the waiter leaves, take the shot,” came a strong voice from his earpiece.

“Gotcha,” was his only reply, cold and callous yet nonchalant and easy.

Short, sweet, and simple.

He watched as the waiter approached the man and handed him a glossy-paged book with an expensive leather covering.

He breathed in slowly, flipping off his safety. The umbrella over the bistro table moved suddenly, but as soon as it had, trajectory adjustments had already been made.

The waiter nodded and gave his fake little smile before turning and walking away.

“Shoot-” the voice was cut off by the shrill sound of a bullet being shot, there was no need for a silencer; this was a warning to any others that tried to fuck with the gang, some dumb thing like that.

“That was bloody brilliant, scary but brilliant,” an English accent came through in the comm.

“Jesus fucking christ man, look at that right through the bitches head,” several yells of success were called out through the earpiece.

The sniper let himself smirk at the praise, “You paid for the best, you get the best, alright I'm coming down.” He began disassembling the rifle, he quickly snagged his bullet casing off of the ground and into his bag using the sleeve of his jacket as not to burn himself. After expertly taking apart his rifle and storing it in his modified guitar case turned rifle case.

He climbed down the ladder, jumping the last few feet. There waiting was his getaway vehicle: A fucking Sanchez, he’d be lying If he said he didn't wanna shoot the gang leader in the dickhole when they told him his getaway was a Sanchez: the shittiest of all bikes. Hell if he had it his way he wouldn't have taken a bike at fucking all, but whatever, he wasn't being paid to complain like a bitch.

He hopped onto the bike, keys in hand and quickly revved the piece of shit and raced out of the thin alleyway. His just in case handgun dug uncomfortably into his lower back, he hoped it wouldn't fall out onto the road while he was riding the bike to the meetup point, that would kinda suck since his prints would be all over that shit.

The air whipped and tried it's best to tear his skin, it tried even harder to rip off his glasses, but only succeeded in shoving them on harder. His chapped lips cracking more from the icy wind. Cop cars blared past him and toward the commotion that he left behind.

The meetup point was in some dingy building right outside the city limits. He raced there quickly, breaking minimal traffic laws. Once he reached the building he dismounted the crap bike and walked it into the abandoned steel factory.

“Ayyy! The man of the hour!” The gang leader smiled and clapped, his suit covered in a thin layer of dust from the factory.

“We’re gonna go for bevs to celebrate, wanna come?” The Englishman asked.

“I'll pass,” The sniper gave an uninterested shrug as he walked closer to the heavily bearded man standing next to the suited guy. He couldn't be bothered to remember their names, it wouldn't matter.

He grabbed the offered up small duffel bag and quickly counted the cash inside, 2500, all there. He tossed the keys to the Sanchez to the bearded man who caught them quickly.

“See ya dud, nice shooting,” the redhead, who stood next to the Englishman, offered.

He nodded and turned walking lazily out and to the car he always took to jobs like this, it was creek brown and a model of the city. He quickly got in, turned his key and drove off. It was best to leave quickly in case the gang he worked for decided they wanted their money back for whatever reason, he always took care of it.

He drove his car to the small garage he owned about two blocks from his apartment and locked everything up before starting the walk to his tiny abode.

The streets always had some sort of traffic, even in the latest nights or the earliest days, he passed at least two drug deals and declined another four offers before reaching his building. It wasn't the worst apartment he's ever lived in, that title goes to his old apartment back in New York. No, this one was decently sized; two bedrooms, one was converted into a gaming room/ office of sorts, a kitchen that had a small dining room attached, and a bathroom. There was also a tiny living room just big enough for a loveseat and a 32-inch flat screen, but that was it. It wasn't the worst at all, not nearly so.

He remembered how surprised he was when he learned the price of the place, initially he thought it was too good to be true, but he soon learned that the last tenant had frightened the neighbors to the point that nobody lasted long in that unit. They were usually chased out by the neighbors and the gossip. Good thing he couldn't care less about any of that.

He, With the pace of a stoner, tapped in his code to access the building and opened the gate before walking leisurely up the stairs to where his unit sat lonesome, surrounded by other quiet units.

205B was his units name, simple, the way he preferred. He took out his dull silver key and unlocked his door. Something was off. His kitchen light was on, he hadn't left it on. He remembered, very distinctly, flipping the switch on his way out.

He stepped in and silently shut the door, before drawing his handgun and flipping off the safety. The sniper sat down his guitar case next to the door and left the small duffel bag on his kitchen counter.

A noise from the bathroom caught the young snipers attention, he followed it, slinking like a cat, cautiousness layered in his gait. Another noisy, louder now from the same place drew him closer. He pointed his gun and was about the push open the door when he felt the barrel of a gun hit the back of his head.

With a sigh and an increased heart rate he flipped on his safety and put his hands up, his own gun hanging loosely from his right hand. He slowly began to turn to survey his opponent.

When he turned he almost dropped the gun, his eyes widened in shock and a short mumble of profanity left his chapped lips at the sight of his oppressor; the man wore a black leather mask with a distinct white skull printed right onto the front, the well known black and blue leather jacket surrounded the masked man, adding to the strange aura of the man.

“Well, isn't this a surprise, hello Vagabond or would you prefer Mad King?” Honestly, he didn't have much self-preservation.

 


	2. Greasepaint and gunpowder.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Vagabond meets this kid named Ray!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick update!? Whaaaaat???? Who is this writer and what have they done to ReyDoneGoofed???????????
> 
> Hello! I have come with an update for you! I am very out of it and tired right now as I've just woken up from a 13-14 hour long nap... I think my body has bad reactions to pain medication? Thinking back on it I believe every time I've taken like Advil or Tylenol I've gotten really tired and slept for hours afterward.

The only reason he came back to this shithole of a city was on Geoff's request. Originally, when he had left the city, he was determined to keep it that way; he got out of the criminal life, there would be no reason to go back to it. Except, he knew he'd eventually return, that's why he kept his safehouses and his gear. He had gotten bored of civilian life and was absolutely relieved when he got a message on one of his old burner phones, even more so to see that it was from an old friend calling in a favor.

 

Once he made it into the city limits, he contacted his old friend, itching to meet up with the man. He was told to meet Geoff at 8:15 at an old steel factory, not far from where he already was on the road. He was told that Geoff's gang would not be there for this first meeting, they were supervising a hit to make sure everything went smoothly, he assumed it was because they had a lack of trust for whatever individual they hired for the job.

 

He drove only a few minutes before pulling into a small crowded lot, there were multiple cars lined up outside the factory. Four of the cars were equally flashy, he assumed they belonged to Geoff's crew as Geoff was never one to be known for his subtlety, the fifth car looked like it actually belonged there, it was brown, and in horrible shape, he assumed that one was the mercs.

 

He parked his inconspicuous black 2016 Scion FR-S next to the very conspicuous chrome adder VS entity XF. He shook his head at the car and stepped out walking silently and quickly into the building and towards the only person there. It was obviously Geoff, if the suit didn't spell it out, the signature facial hair certainly did.

 

“Ryan! How was civilian life? Was it as boring as I think?” Geoff asked, quick energy fueling him.

 

“Astronomically,” Ryan stated simply.

 

“Well, I hope that means you're not too mad about me calling in this favor,” Geoff smiled.

 

“What do you need Geoff?” He wanted the man to just get to the point already, he was too ready to announce his presence back in the underworld of Los Santos.

 

“I’ve started my own crew, as you've probably already heard, I need an ace, I already have Mogar, Free, and Beardo,” Geoff trailed off.

 

“And now you wanna complete the set with The Vagabond,” Ryan finished.

 

“Well you wouldn't complete the set, we’re still trying to find someone who can be on support, I’m sure you're great with sniping and shit, but we’d need you on the ground with us during heists, and I’m pretty sure this kid’s got you beat in sniping skills,” Geoff sighed exasperatedly.

 

“Why do I feel like there's a but coming up?” Ryan was beginning to get agitated with Geoff's overdramatic demeanor.

 

“But, the kid wants nothing to do with any permanent positions in any crew or gang, it’s kinda his thing right now, last year a man tried to force the kid into being in the dude's gang and in retaliation the kid shot the man’s dick off, literally,” Geoff nodded.

 

“So, we've been avoiding bringing up the question with him, for obvious reasons, until we get him warmed up to us, we’ll keep hiring him for jobs until we think it's safe enough to ask,” Geoff continued.

 

“Fine, I’ll join your little gang, as long as they know nothing about me, if you breathe even a word of my name or anything else you know about me, I'll do much worse than just shooting your dick off,” Ryan threatened, deepening his voice and lacing it with cold anger.

 

“Deal, nothing about you or how we know each other will come from me,” Geoff did a motion like he was zipping his lips.

 

Huh, that's a thought, sewing a zipper into someone's lips, Ryan thought wistfully.

 

“Is that it?” He asked as if he had somewhere better to be, which technically he did.

 

“Yep, that's all, go do your weird murder thing and eat puppies or something, I’ll call you later,” Geoff waved him off as he checked his phone, a text from the others stating that the job was done had come through during his conversation with the famed Vagabond.

 

Ryan decided to revisit his old main safe houses in the city, make sure nothing unsavory occurred to them… That is how he found himself in his old apartment, one of his oldest safe houses. He had maybe at least a year's worth of rent still being paid on it, so it shouldn't have been touched at all. He brought out his key and unlocked the door, what he found was very unsavory. Hot anger burned his veins as he shut and locked the door. He habitually flicked on the kitchen light as he walked around the apartment, taking note of all the changes, did the Manager seriously sell his place while he was still paying for it? Ryan was pissed.

 

Ryan noted the gaming console and the various boxes of week-old takeout littering any surface area he walked by. He walked into the bedroom and shook his head at the state of it, clothes covering areas of the floor and the bed. The Vagabond walked up to the closet attached to the bedroom and opened the doors, he blinked taking in the sight of multiple ammo packs and what seemed like burner guns and phones, so this person was either an undercover cop or a merc like him. He reached in and pried the back panel of the closet off, he gave a short sigh of relief to see that his stash had gone untouched. A few spare masks, guns, and wads of cash sat in the wall. 

 

Ryan replaced the panel and walked into the bathroom to check his other stash. The bathroom looked exactly like he expected it to, with the state of the rest of the apartment, it was in complete disarray. Towels laid on the floor, the clothes hamper was overflowing, and the washer and dryer that fit snugly in the room were covered in bloodied shirts and jackets.

 

“Who the fuck owns this many hoodies?” Ryan asked himself, annoyance spreading through his brain in waves. 

 

The sound of the front door opening caused Ryan to freeze, he quickly turned on the faucet of the sink. He silently made his way out of the bathroom and around the corner intending to hide momentarily.

 

He listened closely for any type of noise and heard a dull thud of something being sat down, Ryan melted back into the darkness of the hallway after kicking the bathroom door purposefully. He watched as a figure drew a handgun and moved towards the door, just as the unknown foe was nudging it open, Ryan moved forward and pressed his own gun against the back of the others head.

 

The Vagabond stood stock still as the smaller male sighed. Ryan watched as the unknown apartment owner flipped the safety on, on his gun and hung the weapon by only a few fingers. Ryan wanted to punch him for the uncaring nature with which the other handled his weapon. The Vagabond pulled back the hammer of his own gun when the younger male began to turn around. The first thing Ryan noticed about the others face were his eyes, widening in shock and a dark beautiful brown. 

 

“Shit.” The other obviously recognized Ryan, by the look of him he surely wasn't a cop, far too young, so he must be one of Los Santos’ many criminals. Ryan almost shook his head, this kid should not be in a life that revolved around crime and death, he should be in school or going to parties with his friends. 

 

“Well, isn't this a surprise, hello Vagabond or would you prefer Mad King?” The kid spoke, a half-assed lopsided smirk donning his face, he must not have too much self-preservation, he was either brave, stupid, or suicidal. Ryan was leaning towards all three. 

 

The other tilted his head, “You smell like greasepaint and gunpowder, makes sense,” He looked at the black paint hiding the skin around the mercenary's eyes.

 

The aforementioned Mad King gripped his gun harshly with his right hand while holding out his left, the kid seemed to understand and handed over his gun. Ryan slipped it into the holster he kept hidden underneath his jacket.

 

“Not one for talking? Meh, I’m not usually one to talk much either, but this seems like a special- uh, fuck- what's the word? Circumstance,” The younger man stumbled over his words and lowered his arms.

 

Ryan pointed his gun and made a swooshing motion to the other criminal's arms causing the other to hold them back up.

  
  


“My glasses are kinda slipping, can I fix them or is that too much?” He asked.

 

Ryan rolled his eyes and motioned for Ray to turn back around, once he did Ryan pushed him into the open door that leads to the youngers bedroom.

 

“Well, didn't think you were the type, but I'll take it, my safe words are Fluttershy, pokemon, and oh please please don't shoot me,” He said with an obvious mocking tone.

 

Ryan maneuvered him until he was standing in front of the bed facing the now unretired mercenary, Ryan pointed to the kid's pockets.

 

“Sorry, don't have anything on me, just got back from a job, I’d be a bit sloppy if I took anything of value to a hit,” He shrugged.

 

“Age,” Ryan said, his voice gravelly and low.

 

“What's it matter? What? You don't kill people who are at a certain age, I’m legal, so if you're gonna kill me do me a favor, spare me the boredom. Just get on with it already,” he rolled his eyes, a frown replacing his smirk from earlier.

 

Ryan shook his head and lowered his gun, “I’m not gonna kill you, I am however going to kill the fucking Manager of this apartment complex for selling my space, I had a years worth of rent left on this unit,” Ryan was hella salty about that.

 

“Shit, that's why it was so cheap, sucks to suck I guess, I’m Ray if you care about names, what happened to you if you're cool with me asking? You just disappeared a few years ago, there's a lot of rumors about what happened to you,” Ray rambled feeling his nervousness pick up.

 

“I know, I was fine with them being started and spread, the more rumors, the more believable it was that I was gone,” Ryan explained.

 

“My favorites are the ones where people think you were some demon and you were finally exorcized back into hell- Oh, and the one where people thought you fled the country to go raise alpacas in the mountains,” Ray paused, “You- you didn't actually flee the country to raise alpacas in the mountains, did you?” He asked, honestly his nerves were getting the better of him at this point. If the Vagabond wasn't just going to kill him, what was he going to do?

 

Ray was never the most talkative person in the world, but shove some freaky shit in front of him, and he began babbling almost as bad as the Englishy member of that one gang. He still couldn't remember their names.

 

Ryan tucked his gun into the waistband of his pants and hid it under his jacket, the cool metal- a familiar weight pressing into his lower back.

 

“Let's make a deal,” Ryan said after a few silent moments of thought. 

 

“Ominous, I like it,” Ray counters.

 

Ray was practically vibrating with nerves, he was usually pretty controlled and difficult to waver, but this was something he never thought he’d ever encounter.

 

“You know who I am, you know how much pain I can force you into, so, as long as you don't disclose anything to do with this location, I'll let you stay here,” Ryan had no idea why the fuck he was propositioning the young lad, hell he couldn't figure out why he was talking to begin with, nobody should hear his voice let alone some random kid who had the misfortune of being given his old safehouse that proved not very safe. If this kid were anyone else, Ryan would have just killed him and let it be, he wouldn't have done any of this.

 

“Alright,” Ray nodded in agreement, it's not like he has anyone to tell all of this to anyway. It wouldn't matter either way.

 

“If I actually had any sense of emotion towards you, I think I'd be concerned over your impulse control,” Ryan felt a small need to wrap Ray up in bubble wrap and put him in the tallest tower with the hopes of keeping him safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are always welcome!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Send me a comment if you liked this chapter or just give me a kudos please!


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